Grip

I was pulling weeds and grabbed a handful

of soil and just held it there,

feeling the weight of something real,

something that wouldn't apologize

or take it back.

Dirt under my fingernails,

particles worked into the lifeline of my palm

like I was reading something

the earth was trying to tell me.

It's heavier than people think.

A fist full of it.

You feel the gravity of it,

the way it settles into the creases

of your skin like it belongs there.

I stood in the yard like that for a while,

not pulling anything else,

just holding what was true.